An Uninvited Guest
by fanfic n00b
Summary: Teddy Lupin was having a calm, contemplative Saturday until SHE showed up. Featuring hipster!Teddy and punchy!Lily.


Teddy Lupin was developing photos in his darkroom when he heard a loud noise. The ghostly negatives jerked in their frames as he pulled them from their developing potion and went to investigate. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tiny, backwards wizards shaking their fists at him.

He opened the door and found a red-headed teenage girl supine on his sofa. She was eating a packet of crisps and listening to loud, oddly funereal music on his stereo. The walls were vibrating with it.

"Lily? Shouldn't you be at school?" he yelled over the thumping dirge.

"Took the Floo," she said, not looking at him. Her wand hand was stuffed into her crimson hoodie, which had a Gryffindor lion stamped across the front. A snitch was hovering a meter above her face and she was staring at it fixedly.

"From where?"

"Hogsmeade. There's a fireplace in Dervish and Bangs' that people tend to forget about."

He flicked his wand at the stereo to turn down the volume. "And what, may I ask, are you doing on my sofa on a Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Sulking."

"Because...?"

She sat up, stuffed the snitch in her pocket, and frowned at him. "Bloody Francoise Finnegan."

"Ah."

"Why can't she just – effing – be with me," she said, kicking a cushion toward him.

"Can you not tear up my furniture, Lily."

"Thought this sofa was Victoire's."

"Well. Technically." Victoire had brought this sofa back from the Rue des Sorcieres in Paris two years prior. It was white and modern and elegant- so very Victoire-ish- and it was far too nice for his grungy, dark flat.

"She mad at you again? I noticed there is less of her stuff around. No lovely cooking. No_ je ne sais quoi_."

He shook his head and closed the darkroom door behind him. His hand lingered over the doorknob.

"Why did you come to me?" he asked. "Aren't there people you could talk to at school? Al?"

"Studying for N.E.W.T.s and wanking constantly."

"Neville?"

"Please, Ted, he's Dad's age."

"Rose?"

"N.E.W.T.s as well. Worse than Al, too. Lives in the library."

"Hugo?"

"Pfft."

"Surely there is someone."

"Had a word with that portrait of Dumbledore. He gets it, you know, sort of. Said something about the power of love, blah, blah. And that portrait of Snape, although I get the impression he thinks my love life is ironic or amusing or something. Catty old bugger."

"It is so bizarre that he lets you talk to him."

"Yeah, well, I look like a miniature lesbian version of the love of his life, so-"

"Lily!" he laughed in surprise.

"What? I know what happened. Dad said. Al's _named after _him. Anyway, both of them are still very much in a twentieth century mindset. Thus, there's only you, Teddy, so I've come to your lovely London flat to whinge and eat crisps. And get you to massage my feet."

She proffered her bare ankles to him as he settled next to her on the sofa. Her toenails were painted with some sort of charmed glitter that made his eyes hurt. When he did not take them, she plunked her twinkling feet in his lap and refused to move them.

"And what has Francoise done to you," he said evenly.

"She's bollocks at feelings, Teddy. Hot as a Hungarian horntail, I grant you, but absolute bollocks at feelings."

"She said something."

"It's what she DIDN'T say!" she ejaculated. "I made a brilliant catch in the match against Ravenclaw- three hundred and forty to one hundred and twenty- and I asked her if she saw me get the snitch, and she just – effing – looked at me! Mute as a jinxed mountain troll! And said nothing!"

"Isn't she in Ravenclaw, Lily."

"Yeah, well, she's supposed to be my girlfriend. That should count for more."

"Is that all?"

"And! I asked her to come spend the Easter holidays with me, meet Mum and Dad and that, and she said she would THINK ABOUT IT." She let out an exasperated little half-scream.

"You do realize your Dad's probably the most famous wizard in the world, and head of the auror office to boot. That could be quite intimidating."

"Oh, please. Dad's a pushover."

"To you, maybe." He reached over and fished a crisp out of the bag in her hand. "Do they know, your parents? About you and her?"

"I expect they've guessed. Seeing as I never went boy-crazy like Rose did. But no, I haven't said it in so many words."

"Is that part of it," he asked gently.

She punched a cushion.

"Anyway, why haven't you married Victoire yet, you cad," she said.

He swallowed and sighed. "Oh, she has her work. I have mine. And, as you astutely pointed out earlier, we have our disagreements."

"It's been seven years, Ted. Shit or get off the-"

"Lily."

"What? I can't have an opinion?" she asked, smiling, clearly hoping she was getting the better of him.

"Oh, I would never dream that you could be prevented from having an opinion. Ever."

She made an expression of mock righteousness. "You're messing her around, that's what. She's my cousin. And you're practically my brother. Bit incestuous, when you think about it."

He flicked a crisp at her and she laughed wickedly.

"Do that nose I like," she said.

"Is this the moment?"

"It is absolutely the moment. I am lamenting my romantic misfortune and seeking succor in your company," she pouted.

"Oh, alright," he said, closing his eyes. He changed his nose into a long anteater snout and back again.

She chuckled softly.

"When did you get in to see Dumbledore?" he asked.

"Was in there anyway. Getting told off."

He smirked at her. "What did you do?"

She took out the snitch again.

"Do _not_ let that thing loose in my home," he said.

"Oy, are you on my side or what," she said, stuffing it back in her pocket.

"I am much older than you. I feel responsible for you. And when your mother hears you Floo'd to my flat, she will absolutely-"

"So don't say anything, _Lupin_." He registered the use of his surname. She must be worrying after all.

He grinned evilly at her. "I _really_ ought to. A vulnerable teenage girl on her own in a city of millions-"

"I am _not_ on my own. I'm with you." She stuck out her lip. "Anyway, I'm heartbroken and you're the only one who understands me."

She looked challengingly into his eyes. Hers were blue and fierce. A storm at sea.

"I can't stand this music, Lily," he said finally.

"So change it."

Pushing her feet off him, he got up and flipped through his stack of records. He had never known his parents, but he had inherited their expansive, combined record collection, and over the years, he had become acquainted with them through their music. Mum had loved screechy nineties stuff, punk, The Wyrd Sisters. Dad had loved jazz and mopey seventies songs- Joni Mitchell. The Velvet Underground. Dad's felt more appropriate now.

He slipped a record from its sleeve, moved the needle to a familiar groove, and closed his eyes as a haunting voice from long ago spilled across the room. He swayed on the spot. Sometimes he could feel them- both of them- across time and space and death- when he played their records. Their heartbeats encoded into arpeggios and minor chords.

When he looked over at Lily again, she was crying. Angry, frustrated little sobs that seemed to come out of her unwillingly.

He strode to her, scooped her up- she really was tiny, no wonder she played seeker- and hugged her.

"Why is it so effing hard," she croaked.

"I don't know," he said, as a tear rolled down her blotchy cheek. "Romantic love. Difficult business. Many complications. I'm not doing so well at it myself."

She chewed the inside of her cheek. "I will tell them eventually. Mum and Dad, I mean."

He set her down on the cushions and looked into her eyes again. He needed her to know that what he would say next had no hint of the throwaway, the joking. "Nothing you say will ever, ever alter their love for you, Lily. And I don't want to diminish your feelings, which are valid and obviously passionate, but I don't think it's such a great big thing. Really. And you don't have to tell them yet, if the timing is wrong."

"I will," she said. "I was going to. When I went home for Easter."

"I can come if you like."

"I can do it."

"But if you like. Your decision."

She nodded and sniffed. "I do want them to meet her. If she can stop being such a daft cunt for five seconds."

He could not help chuckling at her. She started to frown, but then she laughed, too.

Something in the kitchen chirped shrilly.

"Ah! That'll be my ramen," she said, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

"Do make yourself at home," he said sarcastically, as she scampered up from the sofa.

He took advantage of her absence to stretch out on the sofa and gaze at the ceiling. He could hear her rummaging through his kitchen drawers. A particularly melancholy song had queued itself up. He let himself become lost in sound, lost in some other time. A time, he imagined, when Dad had also stared at the ceiling and listened to this record while his patience was tested by some tempestuous girl. Probably Mum.

He _Summoned_ the pillow Lily had kicked away and replaced it on the sofa.

As he did so, he remembered the last time Victoire had stayed over. She had come to the door, out of breath and dragging her trunk, in her impractical high-heeled shoes and crisp white Oxford shirt, and he had pressed her against the doorframe and unbuttoned those ivory buttons one by one...

When Lily came back, she sat cross-legged in the armchair opposite him, holding the bowl up to her face, inhaling the steam rising from it. The scent of sesame oil and oniony broth hit his nose with a familiar tang. Because it was _his_ ramen. _Greedy little mouse_, he thought. How long had she been nesting in here before he found her?

She raised her bowl in a mock toast. "To French bints," she said.

"To French bints," he echoed, _Summoning_ his tea from the other room.

"Remember when you used to carry me around at the Burrow," she said.

"I can still carry you around. You're the size of a house elf."

She sniggered and slurped her noodles. "Did you know back then? That you loved Victoire?"

He sat up and leaned against the arm of the sofa. "I think I loved her. I don't think I knew yet. But I think I always loved her."

"Then why do you fight so much?"

"We don't really fight, per se. We drift apart and come back. Perhaps because neither of us is certain about the other," he sighed.

"Why d'you have to be certain? Why can't you just take a crack at committing to her and see."

He pursed his lips at her. "Wise little house elf."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Take any good photos at that Ministry do?" It seemed she sensed the need for a change of subject.

"I did. It was dull. But it's paid work, anyway."

She nodded. "Not art."

"Not really." As he looked at her, an inspiration took him. "I'd rather do a portrait of you."

"You have done. Of the whole family. Loads of times," she said.

"No, I mean, a real portrait. Of you. Just you, just as you are. All sulky and fifteen and wise."

"With noodles in my face."

"Yep." He closed one eye and made a frame around her with his thumbs and index fingers. "Remember this moment. The moment when you knew everything about everything. That feeling doesn't last."

"Existential git," she snorted.

He sat up straighter. He had remembered again: she was fifteen. He was twenty-five. "I suppose I should ask if you're studying hard for O.W.L.s."

"Please, Ted. You're not my Dad. And I've got about eighteen honorary uncles, and you're not one of them, either."

"Alright."

"So? What about this portrait of me looking like a sulky wise-ass?"

He knew she was stalling for time, delaying the moment when he forced her to return to school. But he was already failing at acting parental. Why not.

"Leave your noodles," he said. "I'll take you to the studio."

"Really?" she asked, brightening.

"Yes."

He led her through a narrow hallway to a tiny, bare room where he kept his lights and camera kit. He had never brought any of Harry's children back here- James and Lily because they were little monsters, and Al only because the boy was too nice to ask- so he could tell that she was excited to cross the threshold.

"Don't touch anything," he said.

"I won't!" she said, practically hopping up and down from excitement.

The room was small- in truth, it was a broom closet with an undetectable extension charm- and the paint was peeling. Enchanted lights floated in the air, and silk screens hanging from the rafters softened their glare. A single framed photograph hung on one wall.

"Oh, Teddy. Is that them?" she asked, drawing right up to the picture.

"Er, yes. I just found it... recently," he said. His arm twitched slightly as if to stop her, but failed to commit to the gesture.

The photo showed a group of three people- a grinning, slightly shabby man with his arms around an ecstatic, pink-haired woman. She was sitting up in bed, holding a newborn baby whose hair was slowly changing color. His parents. The day he was born.

"Wow. You look like him. And her, too. She's gorgeous," she said reverently.

"Ta, very much," he said softly.

"I mean, look at her, all sweaty and knackered and probably out of her mind with pain. And happiness. Hell."

"I think he looks a bit drunk," he said.

"Think so?"

"Or happy," he mused.

"No, I see it. Bit pissed, definitely. Look, he's got his traveling cloak on. Must've been out shouting your name in the streets."

"Huh. I didn't notice before." He ran his finger absent-mindedly over the frame.

"Oh, Teddy," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. At close range, he noticed her eyes were damp again.

"Why are _you_ crying?" he asked.

"I'm _not _crying. I'm just a bit misty," she said, smiling at him in a wobbly sort of way.

The music in the living room changed tempo abruptly. Mum's music. Loud and fast.

"That's _different_," she said, raising her eyebrows. "What is that?"

"The Ramones."

"Not your usual mellow grooves, Teddy Lupin."

"I set a shuffling charm on it. Go sit."

She obliged, perching herself on the lone spindly stool and arranging her copper hair. He flicked his wand at the lights. The shadows in the room shifted and deepened around them. She was dancing in her seat.

"Make me look pretty," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Impossible not to," he sang back.

"Aren't you nice," she said loftily.

He considered her as he adjusted the lights around her. Lily Potter. His sort-of sister. She had a veneer of toughness, with that lion on her chest, but just underneath she was raw, vulnerable. Sweet, even.

"One good photo, then you go back to school. Or Harry will have my head on a spike. Agreed?" he said.

"Agreed."

He flicked his wand again. The lights popped.

"Love you," she said.

He smiled and re-focused the lens. He knew she would be alright.


End file.
